


when i'm gone forget that i was here

by bravest



Category: Fables - Willingham
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Gen, other characters make appearances but no dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 04:47:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1969587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravest/pseuds/bravest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An introspection of Blue's thoughts during his death, but with the addition of a scene between him and Dr. Swineheart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when i'm gone forget that i was here

Blue is dying. He knows that. He can feel it, coursing through him, draining him. He feels like there's something eating at him, sucking the life out of him, but Nurse Spratt waves off his concerns, Swineheart only reinforces his spiel about being the best surgeon in town.

The others see it, too, even if no one talks about it. The last time Snow visited, she held his hand, her eyes bloodshot but not crying, as Bigby stood by the door in silence. Bigby knew he was dying as well as Blue did. It's clear on his face, and Bigby can't feel it, but he can smell it.  


It's the biggest irony of all, that his death is so ill timed. Blue learned what the cloak could do too late, he told Rose how he felt too late, and now he's dying too late. In a way, he's glad. Dying in action during the war would've been more honorable, but at least this way he can tell them he doesn't want to be a hero, and that he knows exactly where he wants to be buried. It was strange that he knew that so instinctively. He'd thought about it, maybe, not in any concrete manner, but when he'd wondered he'd pictured the hill over the field.  


It really sinks in the morning after Swineheart's last operation. After he wakes up with a deep, throbbing ache in his arm and finds nothing in it's place, Blue relents.

He's dying. No doubt about it. What he does or says no longer matters, what anyone tries doesn't matter. He's done for. He can still feel the darkness in him despite the amputation, and it creates a swirl of anger that whips up into a storm. Swineheart seems to think he'll heal, and the only thing keeping Blue from punching him in the face is the fact that he can barely lift his remaining arm.  


He's too weak to even yell. He wants to. He wants to ask Swineheart who gave him the right to take away one of his limbs. He wants to ask Swinheart why he suffered hours of surgery with no anesthesia when the man _knew_ he was out of his league. He wants to ask Swineheart why he's still insisting he's the best surgeon, when all he does is ignore him when he tells him he feels terrible, feels _wrong_.

The witches come and see if there's anything they can do, but Blue can barely look them in the eye. He doesn't care anymore. He's in pain, he's losing himself, and even if he were to live -- what good would he be one-armed? Unable to play his music, unable to fight if Fabletown needed him to again. The very thought is so tiring Blue forces it out of his mind for good be insisting that it doesn't matter.

He's going to die.

Rose is married, and he's going to die. He hopes she's happy.

 

Seeing Fly cry like that because of him isn't something Blue had ever wanted. If he'd had the energy he might have cried, too, but there was nothing left of his body for him to cry, barely holding on already.

He tells Bigby he doesn't regret catching that arrow. Leaving Snow and their cubs fatherless was not an option, and if he's going to die for something -- he's glad it's going to be for this.

He tells Snow working for her was a pleasure, wishes her the best, tells her she's the strongest of them all.

He tells Rose what he thinks she needs to hear. It's harsh, and he hadn't intended to be mean, but she had walked in there and then proposed they get married, and that anger, barely boiling underneath the surface, had burst out. How could she think he would agree? How could she think it would be romantic for her to respond to his feelings now that he's dying, now that it won't mean anything in a few days once he's buried six feet under?

He sees many faces in the next few hours. Some he's known well, some he knows less. All expressing similar sentiments, sadness and pity and regret, expressing their love of him as their hero, saying things he was too tired to argue. Beast and Beauty, Pinocchio, Peter and Bo, Stinky and the others, all of them file in until he's so tired he can barely speak.

Dr. Swineheart is the last one standing there. Blue's arm feels like it's on fire. It's not even there anymore. His eyes sting like when he stays up too late, and the magic rotting away inside him, taking him with it, is pumping the last of his life out.

His eyelids feel heavy, and he lets them flutter closed for a moment, before startling.

 

He realises he forgot to tell them where he wanted to be buried.

With the last of his energy, he lifts his hand and waves Swineheart over.

"I want to be buried in Haven," he says, his voice so hoarse and croaked he can barely recognize it himself. "On the hill. Fly will know where."

"I'll pass the message," Swineheart says, almost an after thought. Blue finds himself feeling a little stronger with the surge of anger he feels, and he grabs Swineheart by the shirt to tug him down closer, his face twisted with anger, grey and emanciated, sickly as can be.

"Swineheart, you have been dismissing me for weeks and now I am _dying_ , so you're going to listen carefully and make damn sure the others know or I swear I will come back and haunt you for the rest of your long, miserable life. Do _one_ thing right and pay close attention. Repeat after me. I want to be buried in Haven, on the hill. Flycatcher will know where."

"Haven, on the hill. Flycatcher will know," Swineheart says, nodding, and Blue is almost proud of the shock and fear he reads on his face.

"Good," Blue says in a sigh, drained again. He lets Swineheart go, his hand trembling with the effort of having held on so tightly. "Now... Let me die in peace," he says, and those are the last words he ever remembers speaking, bearly above a whisper, to Swineheart's back and his empty bedroom turned hospital room.

 


End file.
